


Lingering Crimson

by Montagne



Series: Vladimir's Tales [1]
Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Montagne/pseuds/Montagne
Summary: Vladimir watches the lingering crimson on his hands grow or recede day by day. It finally takes a toll on him.





	Lingering Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by http://writing-challenges-and-prompts.tumblr.com/post/170273583846/writing-prompt

There was a lingering crimson on his hands. _It was always there_. Vladimir scrubbed his hands constantly, trying to remove the stains that he thought lingered on his skin. With each stain, comes a memory, with each memory, a mountain of guilt.

The man stood tall in the bathhouse, he was the only one in there currently. Everybody else had left beforehand, it was late. His hands tightened into fists as he stared at the water. Its reflection showed his disgusting face, his nasty personality, even his deepest regrets. He kept staring, playing each regret in his mind, each terrible memory repeatedly. It was going to drive him crazy one day or perhaps he’d break sooner than he thought he would.

His legs trembled, and he collapsed into bathing pool. He didn’t have the will or energy to surface, even if the hot water made his skin feel like it was melting off him. So, he stayed underwater and clawed at his arms, the scratches made the feeling of the water even worse. His lungs burned, they cried for fresh air, they screamed for it. He raised a shaky hand and lifted himself out of water, the moment he was free from the grave that nearly became his, he gasped for air. He drank it in like he hadn’t had it for years. His eyes burned and so did his lungs.

Vladimir looked at his arms, now bloodied from being out of the water and wounded, and gulped down his hysteria. If he died now, he failed. He would fail to uphold the promise he made his father. The father… he killed. The father who’s neck he snapped. The father that gave him everything he could. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress a sob. He missed him. He regrets what he did. He sat there in the cold room for hours. Tears flowed from his eyes like how a stream would flow from a spring. After his grieved for his father once more, he started thinking of the other things he has done. Which, wasn’t a good idea for him now. He reminded himself of all the small children he’s killed, all the people unable to defend themselves. He learned every single one of their names, ages, what they were like, the list went on. He now carries those memories with a heavy feeling on his heart.

He looked towards the door on the bathhouse and pondered, how long would it take him to block the door? How long would it take him to commit himself into the afterlife? How painful would it be?

Vladimir stands, investigates the mirror that was there and stares at himself. He sees someone regretting their past, struggling to comprehend the things they’ve done and someone who was willing to lose himself in war, to kin, to lovers and friends. He sees someone who can’t stand the thought of losing anyone else. But really, who did he have? He had nobody anymore. Mother and father is gone, he doesn’t have any lovers or friends. Only the warriors under him, most of which didn’t care about him.

He looks back at his hands, the things that has caused all these problems. The hands that always had some sort of lingering crimson. He looked at his face, the thing that had been associated with murder. It will always be covered in a lingering crimson. He was supposed to be the law, but he didn’t expect the law to do this to him. He wanted to protect his people. He never wanted this.

He cocked back a fist and smashed the mirror, he couldn’t stand the sight of himself anymore. It was too much for him to process and deal with currently. He watched at the glass shattered around his fist and dropped to the concrete floor, where it shattered into tinier pieces that before. Vladimir paused before taking a step back, his mind wandering back to the promise he made his father before the last breath slipped out of his lungs. To be strong, to forgive oneself, to live on, to find someone to love. Those were the things his father made him promise.

That was what he was going to do.


End file.
